Perfectly Natural
by peanut18
Summary: Forgetting you're a hobbit? Bad. Living out in the woods with a world you've made up in your head? Worse. Taken by elves and left at BagEnd? Better. Falling in love with the Masters young ward, Frodo Baggins? Fantastic.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the LOTR characters with the exception of those of my own design.

**Perfectly Natural**

She'd always loved the smell of the forest, the way soil scented air stuck to her skin and how the leaves always seemed to flitter down from their branches to tangle themselves into her hair. As if they had minds of their own; mischievous little earth fairies that enjoyed hiding in her mane of golden curls. That's how she liked to envision her world, a magical place full with creatures of her own design. She made and named all of them. They were her and she loved them dearly, even if they were just glorified branches or mushrooms. She didn't care; after all, a girl had to have friends. Since no one real was about to have as company, she was left to her own devises.

Every morning she had tea with the Lady of the Forest. The Lady's Honeysuckle hair always tickled her nose, filling the air with the delightful scent of pollen. They would speak of important matters, the comings and goings of animals, and which trees had fallen. When ever the news came up that a giant tree, an elder, had fallen and met its end, she and the Lady would fall into silence. The sadness would still the air and the large trees above them would sway gently. They were the elders. They protected her from the rain, hid her from danger, and in special moments would hold her in their giant arms. The leaves, their children, would leave their perch and fall down onto her shoulders, comforting her by saying '_All is well, Mabel, do not cry'._

The forest was her family. During the day she would play with the animals that lived in the forest. They would play games she could never win, she'd climb trees but the squirrels would always climb higher. She would run, but the deer were swifter. Hide and seek with the fox and vixen was never fair, they would find her in minutes while finding them took her hours. She never minded because the squirrels, deer, and fox never chided, or boasted. They simply won with quiet and humble triumph and then allowed her to play again. At night she would retire to her home. A home she had carefully constructed from old branches and moss that the forest had lent her. It was cool in the summer and warm in the winter when a heavy blanket of snow fell over head and kept the heat from her fire from escaping. She only took wood from the ground, honoring the forest that had made her home.

Mabel hardly saw anyone that wasn't of her own mind's creation. Events as such were rare, frightening. Hearing someone moving about in the forest, as loud as a pack of frightened dear, she would scramble up into the arms of her elders for safety. She saw but was never seen, except once. She had been playing in the brook, watching the fish swim about her feet, nibbling on her toes and occasionally tugging on the fur of her feet. Mabel would then giggle, admonishing her bubbling friends. The sun was peeking through the leaves over head, weaving an intricate pattern of shadows and light that fell across her back and was then lost in the swiftly moving water.

She had noticed the skin was turning red on her feet and calves, the water was very cold. Spring had just bloomed, filling the waters and trees with life. It was a distraction, her feet, that had caused her senses to falter. Before she new it, a voice, strange and new to her ears broke the silence of her world. Her heart skipped a beat as did her coordination. Ice cold water splashed up to her ears in ground breaking shock as she tumbled backwards into the brook.

"What sort of hobbit is this?"

Standing before her was the strangest sight she'd ever seen. Who ever he was, he stood tall, almost as tall as some of her elders. His long white hair was purer than anything her lady could conjure. His was graceful, clear, and elegant. She'd never seen such a man, if he could be called that. The men she hid from her not as tall and smelled of danger, blood, and pain. This one was different, the longer she stared at him; the more certain she was that he was no man. Mabel stared; his eyes were as calm as the woods under a blanket of freshly fallen snow.

"I am sorry to have frightened you. Please, let me help you," he extended his hand. She couldn't help but stare at his long and thin fingers.

"What are you?"

The question came out before she could stop it. It felt strange, speaking to someone that could talk back. It made her uneasy. She could control what the Lady said, but she had no way of guessing what this man would say or do. Her question brought a smile to his face. He was amused; how bizarre it was to see actual amusement on a real face.

"I am Laban, of the elf kind," he said as he hoisted Mabel out of the water. He then bowed and waited. An awkward silence filled the space between them as Mabel gawked at him in wide eyed wonder.

"And you are a hobbit, although I must confess I have never seen the likes of you with such a peculiar manner. Where is your warm hobbit hole filled with mead, hot food, and company? I've never known a hobbit to pass up such comforts. Instead you stand in brooks with your skirts bunched about your scrawny waist, and you hair as tangled and as wild as your eyes."

Silence.

Mabel didn't know what to do. It had been so long since she had heard so many words from another. She had to follow closely, her mind stumbling over the sentences as though she was attempting to learn a new language. But most importantly, what was a hobbit? She mulled the question over as she watched Laban with guarded eyes. A Hobbit was… she was a hobbit. Her eyes widened as recollection clapped through her head like thunder. She'd almost forgotten. It had been so long since she had heard that term.

"I am a hobbit" She said, finding her voice.

"Yes, you are. I just said that. But the question is what _kind_ of hobbit are you?" A laugh broke out from Laban. Mabel shook as the sound danced about, bouncing off of trees and rock.

"I am a hobbit. That's all I know. I live here with my elders… I'm alone." Mabel formed the words carefully, meeting his eyes.

"What elders are these?" Laban asked, offering his hand to her again.

Mabel watched him carefully, what to do? It was unnerving being around someone so beautiful and unpredictable. Yet, despite her nervousness, it felt safe to touch him. Slowly Mabel reached out and took his hand. Tugging gently, she silently led him to a nearby oak and placed his hand on the trunk. The feel of rough bark beneath her fingers was a reassurance. Mabel relaxed further. No words were said, Laban regarded her carefully.

"You are a child of nature then. Separate from your own folk… What is your name?" He seemed to understand. Mabel sighed in relief and allowed a smile to spread across her face.

"Mabel, but I don't remember who it was that first named me."

Laban gathered her hand in his and led her from the brook. It was all so new, this elf leading her, speaking with him. It calmed some of her fears, knowing that he understood about elders, and what they meant to her.

"You must be lonely, living out here all alone with only your mind to speak to," Laban spoke softly but she heard. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Oh, not at all! This is my home; I've made my family, my elders. I-," Mabel rushed to defend her forest. Maybe he didn't understand at all. Laban turned and took her shoulders. She stopped, unable to say more, locked under his gaze.

"A plant kept in a pot is not natural, it's meant to be in the ground. A hobbit is meant to be with hobbits," Laban said, his words measured and his voice soft.

Mabel shook, her small hand still surrounded by his graceful fingers. His eyes were rimed with emotion, sadness. What did all of this mean? Confusion muddied her thoughts. Tears blurred her vision and she grimaced as she went to wipe them away. What hadn't she just climbed into the nearest elder when she had seen him? Then all this confusion, this _newness_ wouldn't have to be.

"Don't cry little one," Laban soothing words washed over her.

He let go of her hand and she brought both up to shield her eyes as more poured down. She had never stopped to think that there may be others. That she could find beings like her. She had to admit, at times she was lonely. However, strong hidden feelings kept her from pursuing people. A deep horror that she was always avoiding, hiding behind a mask. She'd immersed herself in the natural world, burying her past with elders and earth fairies until she honestly couldn't remember anymore.

Meeting Laban had stirred something. She'd gone so long without speaking, so long without seeing another that was outside of her imagination. It frightened her and at the same time opened the need of something. It was a need she couldn't place and it frustrated her, bringing hopeless tears to her eyes. The hopeless tears broke a damn that had been built. Suddenly torrents ran from her soul, cascading down in miserable water falls. Mabel fell to the earthy ground as an unstoppable wail broke her chest. Thinking outside of her sudden shell of dismay seemed impossible. She hardly noticed when Laban scooped her up into his arms and carried her away.

"A hobbit? Laban, we send you out for firewood and you come back with a half dressed she-hobbit?" Nalani exclaimed in dismay, looking down at the sleeping hobbit in his friend's arms.

"I found her playing in the brook. She was alone and has been for quiet some time," Laban said as he frowning.

"So you spy on a bathing hobbit and then kidnap her?" Nalani slapped a palm against his forehead and groaned while the other members of the party came to investigate the fuss.

"Don't be ridiculous! She wasn't bathing and I didn't kidnap her. We spoke. She's a strange one. Any hobbit town is five days from here. She'd been living on her own for so long that she actually forgot what she was. I called her a hobbit and she stared at me as though I were a mad man. She called the trees her elders. She's created a world in her head; it was obvious just from the way she spoke. I decided that for her best interest, I would take her to where she belongs, with hobbits. But as I lead her away it was as though something snapped inside of her and she collapsed onto her self, sobbing. Absolutely inconsolable until she passed out in my arms," Laban explained, carefully laying the sleeping Mabel on the ground, resting his own blanket roll beneath her head. The elven travel group gathered around, studying her.

"And where do you propose we take her?" Nalani asked, unhappy with the disturbance in their travel plans.

"We're in the shire. We might as well take her to her own folk since we will be passing through. It's the least we can do," Laban said, looking at his friend, earnestly.

"You seem so eager. What's so special about this wild hobbit that it would take your mind off of our destination?" Nalani gave Mabel a hard look.

"There's something different about her. It's hard to place," Laban said, looking back at her sleeping form.

"Sure..," Nalani walked back over to the fire and fed the young flames dried moss and twigs.

"She certainly is beautiful, despite her rough appearance," one of the younger elves threw in. Laban and the others watched her sleep and had to agree.

The dying rays of the sun lit her tanned face. She seemed full grown but young. Her curves slight but there none the less. A tumble of leaf and twig tangled golden bold curls framed her quiet face. Despite her tear sore eyes, long eye lashes curled beautifully. Her clear complexion graced her small, well shaped nose that led down to her supple lips held up by a small yet strong chin. Mabel groaned in her sleep, eyes flashing open for the briefest of seconds, revealing startling blue eyes. She was exceptionally fair for a hobbit. It was a fairness that impressed even the elves.

"And do we know of anyone in the Shire that we can burden with you little hobbit girl?" Nalani said, breaking the silence.

"There is an Elf-Friend in Hobbiton. Bilbo Baggins is the name if I'm not mistaken. We will take her there." Laban said, tucking one of Mabel's curls behind an ear. It wasn't a proposition, it was a statement.

Nalani scratched patterns into the earth with a stick, frowning, but did not object.

Frodo will come in the next chapter. I always like to build up a good intro before I jump into the meat of the story. So for you Frodo fans out there, your Handsome Hobbit is on his way! If you have read this far, please review. There is nothing more painful then not knowing if someone read your story. So please, Review! I'll love you forever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

**Frodo **set down his volume. His eyes felt gritty, the soreness from reading for such an extended period of time had finally forced him to set down the tattered old book. Bilbo was always handing him novels, history texts, poetry, anything worth reading to educate Frodo above the average Hobbit population. He'd hand him a book with a cheering wink before sending him off to expand his mind. Not that it bothered Frodo, he had expected as much when he came to live with his favorite Uncle. Frodo was just lucky that he actually enjoyed reading.

He squinted through the bright sun light to survey the forest around him. It was a habit of his to go out into woods and read. It was the best way to get away from it all. Here deep in the woods he could actually think.

Today the air was hot, even in the cool shade of the giant oak under which he reclined. Sweat made his plain white shirt cling to his chest. It stuck to his sides, causing an unpleasant, heavy sensation. Heaving an irritated sigh, he pulled the fabric away from his skin and stood. What a pain. Looking about, he stood there; sweat trickling down the side of his face. Making up his mind, he pulled the damp shirt up over his head and away from his chest. A smile lit up his face as a soft breeze brushed against his bare skin. It was a more than welcome relief from the blistering temperature. He made to pick up his book and head home but stopped in mid-reach. Faintly, just faintly, he could hear singing.

He stood and looked in the direction the melody came from. He looked down at his book and then back in the direction of the singing. He hesitated. It wasn't any of his business if people wanted to sing as they passed through the woods. Yet at the same time, it was tempting to hear the notes of the song. Frodo sifted his weight and glance about the woods again. Well Uncle Bilbo wouldn't be missing him for a while…

"Stay there," he commanded his book, tossing down his shirt beside it. An adventurous smile lit his features; it was time for a walk.

The singing led him down a small deer trail. Soon the murmurings of a small creek reached his ears. He hadn't realized that a creek was so nearby. As he drew nearer it became clear that it was a woman singing. What was a young hobbit lass doing out in these parts? Most stuck close to home or the fields, preferring the company of mother and friends to the quiet of the forest. Frodo pulled a branch from a mulberry tree aside and froze. It definitely was a hobbit lass doing the singing, but as for the young child he had envisioned…

She stood in the middle of a deep creek, _bathing. _Golden curls cascaded down her body, water running down the small of her back and rejoining the surface of the water that rose just above the finest bottom he'd ever seen. She laughed, submerging herself under the crystal water before coming up again, throwing her head back to get her wet mane out of her face. Two modest but shapely breasts bounced as she surface, the nipples a dark pink. Droplets clung to her chest and stomach. It was the most breath taking thing he had ever seen. His breeches subconsciously tightened and Frodo found that no absence of shirt could keep the heat at bay.

A sudden blush rose to his cheeks and Frodo looked away, embarrassed. Mentally he tried to push down the noticeable bulge that had formed. He shouldn't be looking, it wasn't right. How vandalized she would feel if she caught him peeping! Frodo went to turn and walk away but found his eyes once again wandering towards her curves. How wonderful it would be to feel wet skin, and kiss tender, supple lips. To run his fingers through her hair was she ground her hips against him, moaning…

"Frodo!"

Frodo tumbled out of his large goose feather bed, sheets in a tangle. Sweat burned his eyes as he attempted to free himself from the knotted mess. Muttering quiet curses, Frodo climbed to his feet, kicking the hated sheets aside. He slumped onto the bed weakly and wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his night shirt. Now that was a dream! The last time he'd ever had a dream that vivid was when he was just entering his tween years. He squirmed uncomfortably, his erection was still strong. His dream girl certainly gave a lasting impression. His blissful thoughts were interrupted.

"Frodo! Get up already. Confound it, lad!" Uncle Bilbo rapped on his door. Frodo grabbed his pillow and placed it on his lap, attempting to hide the effect of the dream.

"I'm up Uncle!" Frodo said, clearing his voice, "Stop or you will beat down the door."

Bilbo poked his head in and surveyed his disheveled, young ward. He clucked in disapproval and charged into the room, large and in charge. He headed over to Frodo's dresser and began pulling out clothes. Vests and shirts flew onto the bed as Bilbo reined terror on Frodo's articles of clothing.

"What is going on?" Frodo asked, tossing aside the pillow (as it was now safe to do so) and rushing to his Uncle's side.

"We have a most interesting guest that I want you to meet. An Elf! You've always wanted to meet one haven't you? Now is your chance… Ah ha!" Bilbo pulled out a vest that had his approval and shoved it into Frodo's hands. "Get dressed and meet me out in the parlor."

Bilbo hustled out of the room, leaving the speechless Frodo standing amongst shirts, breeches, and other personal effects. What was an elf doing in Bag End? It was true he had always wanted to meet an elf, ever since he had read all the stories by elven authors that Bilbo kept in his numerous studies. Large volumes stacked onto shelves that bowed under the weight, he had delighted in tackling each and every one of them. They were stories he had savored, devouring page after page during quiet afternoons and by candle light in the dead of night. This was finally his chance to come face to face with the folk that, until now, had merely lived in his imagination. It certainly was a delightful treat to wake up to.

Frodo pulled on his clothes. Every article tugged into place just right, each button fastened with care. He was finally going to meet an elf. A bird twittered outside the window, catching his attention. His room had once of the finest windows at Bag End. The large circular pane of glass was as ancient as it was beautiful. Beyond was the Shire, glorified under the exuberant rays of the early morning sun. The dewy fields glistened in the light as did the water droplets caught in a spider web on his window pane. The web let up like a string of diamonds. Frodo watched it, his mind caught off into another world. He could have stood there for eternity, that is, until a firm hand gripped his shoulder.

"Come on, come on, our guest doesn't have all day," Bilbo admonished, steering Frodo out of the room and hiding a loving chuckle from his beloved heir.

**Laban** stood by the large fireplace in Bilbo's fine parlor, watching the flames hungrily lick at the log freshly placed in the hearth. He looked over at the divan across the room where Mabel slept. He had pulled most of the twigs from her hair and she had washed her face in a creek along the way. The trip had worn her out; she was unused to traveling such distances. What alarmed him was the knowledge that it wasn't a physical exhaustion, rather an emotional one that caused her to slip into sleep whenever they took a rest along the road. She had agreed to come to Bag End reluctantly and every step she took away from her forest, the more tired she seemed. Laban had taken a paternal liking to the young hobbit, wrapping her up in his traveling cloak whenever she slept and occasionally carrying her on his back.

"Well, I finally got him out of bed, the silly lad," Bilbo laughed as he entered the room, breaking Laban out of his thoughts. He looked up to greet his hosts. Frodo stood a few feet behind Bilbo, surveying him with guarded interest. Laban smiled at them both and bowed.

"It is a pleasure to be in your fine company, Bilbo, Elf-Friend. You as well, Mr. Frodo, I am glad to have met both of you," Laban gave them his best smile.

"Have a seat and Frodo will get you some tea," Bilbo said, waving happily to a nearby arm chair. Frodo reluctantly started to move towards the kitchen.

"No thank you. It's greatly appreciated but I am not thirsty. However, my small companion may need some cool water when she wakes," Laban said as he sat, motioning towards Mabel.

"Good, good. Frodo, fetch a glass of water then, would you? That a boy," Bilbo said to Frodo's quickly retreating back. Bilbo knew he resented being sent away after just laying eyes on Laban, but he would never refuse his Uncle.

"An elf traveling with a hobbit maid, you are full of surprises Laban of Rivendell," Bilbo mused, giving Laban a studying gaze after Frodo was gone.

"I came across her five days travel from here. She was living alone in the forest, I thought it best to bring her back were she belongs," Laban looked over a Mabel as she slept, snuggled deep in the plush pillows of Bilbo's divan.

"Should I ask more questions or is that the extent of the tale?" Bilbo looked wisely as her sleeping face. "Nothing is that simple, but we will take her in with no questions asked. I'm sure we will learn more when she's ready to tell. Bag End has more than enough rooms and a little adventure would do the place some good. A new face is just what Bag End needs."

Bilbo rose and walked over to look down on her. There certainly was something queer about her. Beautiful as she was, something lay beneath the surface. A tragic tale could be seen in the soft shadows of her face. Bilbo had been far and wide, and instinct told him a story needed to be told; her story.

"She has quite a tale to tell, I can see it. I would imagine that you did as well. Otherwise you would not have brought her here," Bilbo sighed, rejoining Laban who was now staring out the parlor window. "We will take good care of her, you needn't worry. I think it will do Frodo some good to have another face around."

Elf and Hobbit stood by the window, surveying the front lawn and its path that led down to the white picket fence and road. It was calm, understanding silence between two beings of wisdom. The air was full of silent communication. The sound of shattering glass, however, snapped both companions from their deep thoughts.

**The** glass had slipped from his fingers before his mind had time to react. In fact his mind wasn't reacting well at all. It slowed to a stuttering halt and then stopped completely. It was _her. _She had been in his dreams a mere hour ago and now here she slept. The resemblance was unmistakable. Her clear, innocent face was partially hidden by her hair, the precious strands of hair he had dreamt of. How hadn't he noticed her in the first place? He had been so wrapped up by Laban's presence in the room that he had been blind to the goddess sleeping feet from him. The parlor disappeared around him and became the question puzzling in his head. Dreams weren't real and they definitely didn't come true. How had this come to be?

A soft cough brought him crashing back into Bag End.

"I'm sorry! I'll just pick this up and…," Frodo apologized; the last of his mortified sentence became an inaudible mumble as he bent over, picking up the shards of glass. His ears grew hot as he felt Bilbo and Laban's questioning stares. Frodo hurried back to the kitchens to fetch a dish towel, heart hammering.

_Ah Frodo is finally in the story. I hope you enjoyed reading it... if you have, please review! Feed back is a wonder. Thanks to Deceased for reviewing (:_

_peanut_


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